Shoot / Don't Shoot

“She asked me for a picture—an eleven-by-four­teen glossy of me. She asked for it just before I left town. She’s on the facilities committee at the Wom­en’s Club. They need the picture to frame and put up in the department. It’s supposed to go in that glass display case at the far end of the lobby along with pictures of all my predecessors.”

“But, Mom,” Jenny objected, “you don’t have a picture like that. All those other guys are standing there wearing their cowboy hats and their guns. And they all look sort of . . . well, mean, even Grandpa Lathrop.”

Eleanor shook her head disparagingly. Jenny’s observant objection might not have met with Eleanor Lathrop’s approval, but to Joanna’s way thinking, it was on the money. The display in question, located at the back of the department’s public lobby, featured a rogues’ gallery of all the previous sheriffs of Cochise County, who did all happen to be guys.

The photos in question were primarily of the formally posed variety. In most the subject wore western attire complimented by obligatory Stetsons. All of them wore guns, while only one was pictured with his horse. Most of them frowned into the camera, their grim faces looking for all the world as though they were battling terrible cases of indigestion.

Ignoring Eleanor’s disapproval, Joanna couldn’t resist smiling at Jenny. “The mean look shouldn’t be any trouble. I can handle that,” Joanna said. “And I’ve already got a gun. My big problem is finding a suitable horse and a hat.”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough, Joanna,” Eleanor scolded. “You’re an important public official now. Your picture ought to be properly displayed right along with all the others. That doesn’t mean it has to be exactly like all the others. Maybe you could use the same picture that was on your campaign literature. That one’s very dignified and also very ladylike. If I were you, I’d give Marliss one of those. And don’t let it slide, either. People appreciate it when public servants handle those kinds of details promptly.”

With Bob Brundage looking on, Joanna couldn’t help smarting under Eleanor’s semipublic rebuke. ‘Marliss only asked me about it in church this last Sunday, Mother,” Joanna replied. “I wasn’t exactly in a position where I could haul a picture out of my purse and hand it over on the spot. And I’ve been a little busy ever since then. Besides, I don’t know why there’s such a rush. They don’t make the presentation until the annual Women’s Club luncheon at the end of January.”

“That’s not the point,” Eleanor said. “Marliss still needs to talk to you about it, and probably about everything else as well.”

“What everything else?” Joanna asked. “The food at the jail?”

“Hardly,” Eleanor sniffed. “Obviously, you hav­en’t read today’s paper. Your name’s splashed all over it as usual. It makes you sound like—”

“Like what?” Joanna asked.

Eleanor frowned. “Never mind,” she said.

A folded newspaper lay beside Eleanor’s place mat. Jenny reached for it.

“That’s great. First Mom’s on TV, and now she’s in the paper,” Jenny gloated. “Can I read it? Please?”

Eleanor covered the paper with her hand, adroitly keeping Jenny from touching it. “Certainly not. You shouldn’t be exposed to this kind of thing. It’s all about that Jessup woman. It’s bad enough for your mother to be mixed up in all this murder business, but then for them to publish things about people’s personal bad habits right there in a family newspaper.... “

“Oh,” Jenny said. “Is that why you don’t want me to read it? Because it talks about lesbians? I ready knew about that from going to see Mom’s friend at the hospital yesterday. Her brother called a dyke, so I sort of figured it out.”

“Jenny!” Eleanor exclaimed, her face going pale. “What language!”